My Cardboard Balcony

This Is The End by Belinda Roddie This is the end of our brief tête-à-têtes over coffee and tea that tastes like mint, the end of our missed shifts and spastic days of escaping the city, where we'd sprint to grassy hills and smell the petrichor brought by the last night's rain. I no longer can cater to your grand whims anymore. I have a wife at home, and I hunger for more time with her. I love her more than either you or I could ever begin to understand. While the touch of your hand is tempting, more than fearing of the sin, I fear for the loss of my companion, who's the victor in this competition.

Off her rocker. Lost her marbles. That's what people say a lot about Nina Mills, when they think she's not listening. Any other "sensible" individual would have placed Orville into a cozy retirement home with wi-fi and cable TV and lots of beige uniformed underlings tending to him. But to keep him at their estate and take care of him herself because that's "what he wanted," well - that's just crazy talk. But Nina does listen, while she bags her groceries and takes them to her convertible. She's always listening.